Felwood Forest
by ManaKnight
Summary: A mage wanders into Felwood Forest, seeking shelter for the night. The elves of the Emerald Sanctuary request his aid...but will he give it?
1. Felwood Forest

This is pretty much how it happened. A few changes from how I actually played, of course, and I beat the satyr boss in about 30 seconds but I found myself writing this story as I quested in Felwood...so here it is.

Night was falling fast.

My horse was exhausted; I'd need to find a place to stop for the night.

I had ridden through Ashenvale for most of the day now. I had heard that the northern forest, corrupted by the invasion of the Burning Legion, had grown more dangerous of late, and had resolved to investigate it.

The transition was startling.

Where once the trees had been vibrant with life, they now wilted and died. The birdsong stopped suddenly, plunging me into an eerie silence. Even the ground changed. The green grass was brown, and dead, and in patches I could see black growth springing from the parched dirt.

Even the animals had changed. I saw bears in the forest near the trail on which I rode. Their eyes were hazed over with pain; the corruption of the land had clearly affected them as well. They wandered about, mauling trees, each other, and themselves, seeking only an end to this pain that tortured them.

I gave them a wide berth.

The moon rose over the warped trees. Shadowmane gave a weary snort. I patted him lightly, reassuringly, even as my eyes scanned the horizon, looking for a place to rest.

I had resigned myself to camping out in a clearing tonight when I spied a dirt path to my right. With a light tug on the reigns, I steered Shadowmane down the road, whispering in his ear, "We'll be there soon, boy. Not far now."

I hoped the dirt path was made by elven feet, or perhaps even human ones.

A building sprang up in front of me suddenly. I slowed my horse's pace. We'd make it before it grew too dark out. And besides, we might need to leave in a hurry...

We approached the building. We were close now, so close I could see silhouettes in the doorway by the firelight. A campfire was burning, lowly.

Something struck me as odd about the silhouettes, but I paid it no heed. I was tired, and my horse needed rest as well.

Then, as I drew nearer, I realized what had been bothering me.

One of the silhouettes was too large. It was unmistakably the figure of a Tauren.

I dismounted quietly, and murmured a few quiet words to Shadowmane. "Stay here, boy. I'm just going to go check something out."

I murmured a few words of magic. I could feel the ice forming a protective barrier around me, and though I was chilled from the night it brought me no discomfort.

I tied my horse to the tree, and slunk away into the shadows, more words of magic on my lips...this time of an offensive nature.

I crept up through the forest. I drew nearer and nearer, not a branch snapping underfoot, until I could see the Tauren clearly in the firelight. I circled the building he was in, and gathered the magic into my body, prepared to unleash a torrent of flames before he even knew what was happening...

Something was wrong.

His eyes had been following me the whole time. Now that I thought about it, I could feel his power radiating from him in waves...he wore a druidic symbol around his neck. He probably knew I was coming long before I got here. And, if so, he could've killed me by now if he had wanted to.

Sighing, I released the magic and walked into the firelight.

"Hail, traveler. You've been expected." The Tauren said to me. But he was not expecting the bitterness in my voice as I replied, "I know."

The sun rose, bringing a pale, green light to the land. I shuddered, in spite of myself. Not even the sunlight was untouched by the Legion's corruption. What power, I thought to myself...

I rose quickly to feed and water my horse, whom I had brought to the small camp. There were Night Elves here too; I thought it strange that they should live with the Tauren, but I had seen such things before. The Tauren and Night Elves both had strong ties with nature, ones that often surpassed the hatred many members of the Horde and Alliance still bore for each other.

One of the Night Elves, a not unattractive woman, approached me as I saddled my horse and prepared to leave.

"Traveller, I beg a favor. Few seek adventure here in Felwood...its corruption is widespread, and indiscriminate. We here, at the Emerald Sanctuary, seek to cleanse this corruption, but there are others who work to sustain it..." She began.

"And what would errand would you have me run?" I snapped.

She appeared taken aback. "There are Satyr to the northwest. I ask that you kill as many as you can...but their leader especially. If they are successful I fear things may only get worse here in Felwood..." Her voice trailed off, tinged with sorrow.

"The reward?"

"I...I have little to offer you, sir...is not the knowledge that you have saved this land reward enough?" Anger flashed in her eyes. She had come to me thinking I gave a damn about this land or its people. I could see this cause was one she had given many, many years of her life to...

"No, it is not." I said simply. "I am a mercenary of sorts. I could just as easily hire myself to the Satyr themselves, and I'm certain _they_ would pay well."

"Sir! We have given you shelter for the night! You are in our debt!" She spat the words.

"...very well. Know that this is beneath me...Know that I do this...not to better this wretched land. I care nothing for it. I do this...to better myself. But...know, also...I do this, for I am indebted to no one!" Throwing her a deadly glance that caused her to shiver, I threw a leg over the saddle and rode off, to find these satyr and pay my debt.

The Satyr encampment was surprisingly close, and I reached it well before midday. I wondered to myself why she had not come here herself and destroyed these Satyr. Surely, between her and the Tauren...

I shrugged. She had her reasons. Tying Shadowmane to a nearby tree, I filled his feeding pouch - not trusting the grass to be edible - and whispered to him, "Stay here. I'll be back soon."

It was a short walk from there to the tents that marked the Satyr. Little more than crude canvas propped up by sticks. With all that power, this was the best they could do? I laughed to myself, silently, not wanting to give myself away.

I observed my enemy, as I always did. These Satyr - the Jadefire clan, I had heard - had red manes...and razor-sharp claws, in addition to powerful magics. No matter. Stronger foes than these had fallen to my spells...and my steel.

A quick word caused a nearby tent to burst into flames. There were a handful of the demons camped out underneath it, and at the sudden heat they lept up and looked around. They smelled human downwind, certainly, and went to investigate.

Another quick word and I was gone.

Shaking off the disorientation that always comes when I traverse the land with that spell, I took in my surroundings quickly. I was right where I wanted to be. The largest, most ornate tent loomed before me, while two Satyr stood under it. One was a hellcaller, I noted, by the aura of black power that shimmered around him. The other was undoubtedly the Satyr's leader. He was larger than the others by a full foot, and he radiated such intense power that for a moment I hesitated, unsure if I could fulfill my pledge. What was this land to me? Surely not worth my death...but I shook those thoughts off. I would not go back on my word.

The Satyr saw me, or if not they smelt me, for they looked in my direction and immediately began to attack. I heard the hellcaller chant words of power, and immediately cast a spell to ward off the searing flames I knew he would throw at me. As the magic formed a protective barrier around me, I lunged forward, out of the trees, and ducked the larger Satyr's grasping claws, trying to close with the hellcaller. His spell complete, a large ball of flame smashed into me, but my magic shield held strong. His eyes opened wide for a second, and he gasped out the words "A valiant effort, pitiful human..." before my sword embedded itself in his stomach. He gasped in shock, and slumped over. Withdrawing the blade quickly, I whirled to face my other opponent.

"Well done, mage..." He rasped. "But I sense your power, and it is no match for my own...I will bring the corruption back to these lands, and you have no magic strong enough to stop me!"

His words rang in my ears. I knew what he said was true. How could I match this demon, who was undoubtedly one of the most powerful Satyrs in the world?

"And now, mortal...you will die..." He hissed.

The battle raged on for long hours. Panting for breath, beaten and bloody, I gasped out the words to spell after spell, feeling the magic flow through me...but with each spell it grew harder and harder to form the words, to draw the power through my body. Soon, I knew, it would be over.

As if sensing my defeat, the Satyr drew closer. "A valiant effort...young mage...but you knew from the beginning this was a fool's quest..." Anger blazed in my soul. I would not be defeated! I gathered all my strength for a last-ditch spell...and flung it with all my might at the Satyr.

He brushed it aside with a massive claw.

Falling to one knee, I grew dizzy. Blackness swam on the edges of my vision...but then I heard that rasping voice, mocking me.

"Now, mage, I will devour your soul...and the stronger I shall become for it..."

He reached out that deadly claw, slowly, tantalizingly, words of a spell on his lips. If only I could place that spell...

My brain went numb with shock. I could indeed place that spell! There would be no peace in death for me...that spell would claim my soul if he touched me, and I would serve him even in death...

"No, Satyr." I whispered. With all my strength, I grabbed my sword in both hands. I had forgotten about it during the battle, and from the shock on his face, so had he.

"The last word you hear in this life...will be my name. Remember it, as you writhe in the foulest regions of the Twisting Nether..."

The sword blow nearly cut him in two.

The Satyr's vision faded, the pain coursing through him was agony. Every breath grew harder, and he knew he was dying. Looking up, he saw the mage's eyes, a cold, unfeeling blue that seemed to reflect firelight, even in the day...and he saw death.

The last words he ever heard haunted him throughout the abyss.

"You die by my hand. You, like so many others."

The eyes seemed to gleam now. The light he saw reflected flared up, filled with life, excitement...ambition...power.

"Another trophy...for Soulfrost..."


	2. Faltering Faith

I remember, once, long ago, when the Kirin Tor ruled from the Violet Citadel on Cross Island. I remember when the decree was passed; when we swore to never study the magics of flame, poison and necromancy, for they were demon-tainted, and we feared demonic corruption.

But the Violet Citadel fell. Cross Island fell before the invading legions of orcs.

The Kirin Tor relocated to the edge of Lordamere Lake. There, they continued their study of the arcane, and there they continued to study the elemental magics. And still, they avoided the study of flame.

But times change.

The Scourge came, and scoured our world. The demons themselves came to attack us…who fears to be corrupted by a demon when demons themselves march against your world?

The war is over, and the demons defeated, but we did not win. There are few humans left alive...many of whom now live in Kalimdor, and many of whom cannot put their pasts behind them.

The orcs saved us that day at Mount Hyjal, as did the night elves. But the marines of Kul Tiras stubbornly fight against them…

But none of that is important. The fact remains that our order died along with the rest of our plague-scarred world.

Once, we shunned fire magics. But necromancers now walk the land undisguised, adding any souls they can find to the legions of the damned. The decision to accept fire magics was never officially made…for there were no officials to make it. But there were a few – more now than ever – who realized that we would need every weapon at our disposal to reclaim our broken land.

I am a pyromancer. I say it freely. I take my magic not from the hands of demons, but from the land itself, much like the so-called shamans that walk among the tauren and troll races. Fire magic, I now see, was not something to fear, not a demonic gift, although the demons themselves wield it.

Fire magic is no longer feared…it seems trivial, in fact, to the demontouched who now walk our world.

The ancient orcish order of the Warlock has been revived, for both the Alliance and the Horde.

Once, we feared demonic power. Now we embrace it.

There are more warlocks among the humans than there ever were among the legions of the Horde. Gnomes, too, bend demons too their will. The orcs and undead – both of the Scourge and of the Forsaken – call upon the powers of the Legion and strive to maintain their souls.

In a war for survival, you make use of every available weapon…or you die.

There are those, of course, who cannot control the demons, who find themselves succumbing to the tantalizing whispers in their head. They serve the Legion, and only the Legion. They can be seen among the Scourge…but even the Scourge no longer trusts those demontouched who fall too far.

This is the story of one such man, tainted by demons and fallen into darkness...

"Tell me, Father. If demons are inherently evil, and wielding demon magic makes you evil...where does the power of the Light come from? If there are holy beings out there, granting this power, why do they not show themselves?"

"That is not their way. The Light does not interfere in the ways of mortals, but gives them the strength to change their own path."

"How can any being call itself "good" if it allows innocents to suffer without trying to help them? Even demons lend each other aid..."

"Demons, my son, help each other only because they all work towards the destruction of the universe. When all the world is consumed in ash, they will turn on each other in the end..." With that, Father Gregory stood and left the room, a little shaken, perhaps, but he too had faced a dwindling of faith, and the questions were ones he had asked before. One had to have faith. Faith in the Light, and faith that the young priest here would find his faith again before long.

And Nilas Arcanister sat brooding in his room. He had not missed the fact that the elder priest had avoided his question. He needed something more than faith...who knows what might have been, if only the clergy had taken his doubt more seriously...

He looked to the Light for answers, as he had been taught. He spent many hours alone in his room, praying for guidance. And salvation came, in the form of a whispered voice in his head...

The library was dark.

Northshire Abbey's library was famous throughout the Eastern Kingdoms; second only to the one in Stormwind Keep. Books from all around the world could be found here. The clergy kept books of revelations, books of magical power...and books of vile darkness.

He shouldn't be here, he knew. The library was kept locked after hours for a reason. But he had received a revelation of his own. A celestial being, Meliadoul, had spoken to him, and told him that the Light did indeed help out those in need of their assistance. The voice had convinced him that he was strong, strong enough to control some of the weaker demons, bend them to his will, and fight fire with fire. Who would know the secrets of demonslaying better than a demon?

The logic was sound, and Nilas contented himself with the knowledge that though he broke the rules of the clergy now, he would soon do great good with the forbidden knowledge he sought. He could see himself now, on a hilltop, with the broken bodies of demons laying all around him...demons fell from the sky, eager to challenge him, fearful of his might...

He could see it so clearly, in fact, he had to shake his head and remind himself of where he was before he could even see the bookshelves again. Even then, the image was a long time in fading...

Startled, Nilas decided to busy himself in his search.


End file.
